


They Call This Denial

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Friendship, M/M, Post-Break-Up, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Kirk convinces a heartbroken Spock that a blind date is the way to go, and realizes he doesn’t much like the idea of Spock ending up with someone else. Serious Stuff happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Don't look at this don't read this this is my embarrassment-ville. If you want, though, you can. Leaving it up because I know what it's like to have an author delete something on you and I still regret deleting my first YGO fanfic. Know that i'm so embarrassed, though. Embarrassed. Capital E.**
> 
>  
> 
> Title:  
>  They Call This Denial  
>  **Author:** [](http://epicionly.livejournal.com/profile)[**epicionly**](http://epicionly.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Beta:**[](http://vojir.livejournal.com/profile)[ **vojir**](http://vojir.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Fandom:** Star Trek (2009)  
>  **Pairing:** Kirk/Spock  
>  **Genre:** Romance, Valentine’s Day, post-Break-Up  
>  **Summary:**  Kirk convinces a heartbroken Spock that a blind date is the way to go, and realizes he doesn’t much like the idea of Spock ending up with someone else. Serious Stuff happens.  
>  **Author's Notes:**  
>  I don’t really feel comfortable with this piece. Since reading [Observations](http://anon-j-anon.livejournal.com/30674.html) by [](http://anon-j-anon.livejournal.com/profile)[**anon_j_anon**](http://anon-j-anon.livejournal.com/), I feel like it’s inadequate to the depth that Kirk and Spock can be, but then this is meant to be light-hearted. Read on a whim-ful. I still hope you like it. My genres don't make sense and   
>  I have no idea what I was doing or what I am right now. I always have a low opinion of Valentine pieces because most of the time it’s really corny. Is this corny? Oh my god, please say it isn’t. Also I'm sorry I only really managed to have this much in terms of plot happening, but I actually have over 10k in total done and I haven't even reached the part where Jim proposes the blind date thing to Spock. This is Part 1 of a more parts. ;3;
> 
> Written for [](http://beederiffic.livejournal.com/profile)[**beederiffic**](http://beederiffic.livejournal.com/)  at [](http://ksvalentine.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ksvalentine.livejournal.com/) **ksvalentine**.
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> **  
> Prompt:  
>   
>  Jim's sick of Spock moping around (in a purely Vulcan manner) after his break-up with Uhura, so decides to set him up with someone. He coerces Spock into attending a series of blind dates (and I'll promise my second-born to someone if Bones is one of them), then Jim sits in his quarters biting his nails every night wondering what's going on and deciding that whoever he set Spock up with isn't good enough for him. This eventually hits him around the head with a clue bat, and he sends himself on the last date on Valentines night, certain he's the only person who can possibly make Spock happy after making a very logical list of reasons as to why that's the case. Problem is, he now has to convince Spock. Or does he?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ****

The instant Jim had stepped onto the bridge, he’d felt more _oh shit_ than he had his entire life. It was even worse than getting caught when he was a kid by his mom, or getting caught up in situations that’d nearly killed him. Maybe he wasn’t aspiring to nearly drive a car off a cliff again, but the way Jim saw it, it was pretty much the same feeling. Palms sweaty, entire body tense and nervous as though ready to spring, and the almost paralyzed feeling felt when stepping around a landmine were key symptoms Bones would probably be happy to put Jim into bed for; and it was _really_ , really uncomfortable to sit in the Captain’s chair and know something was wrong.  
  
Right about now, Jim didn’t like Uhura all that much. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was being the exception Communications Officer as she always was been. No, he did not proposition her (contrary to popular belief, Jim was _not_ full up of as many loose morals as one would’ve believed) and gotten rejected (well, rejected once, yes, and that’d been enough for him). And no, he did not sexually harass her, and nor did she (though he wouldn’t have been able to say he wouldn’t have liked it, but would’ve found it odd). Instead, she was cool and professional—which she’d always been, really—but right about now, it annoyed him. It wasn’t that he hated her—far from it, he had the highest amount of respect for her—but now was one of those times when he wished that everyone was all-knowing.  
  
So usually, Jim liked Uhura. Gorgeous woman, fierce pride, excellent at her job—what wasn’t there to respect? Of course, there was that first time they met when he accidentally grabbed her chest and she flung him off into the raging Cupcake  & co. quartet where he promptly got his face smashed in again, but he’d long since forgiven her for that. He held grudges, true, but if Jim had had Uhura’s body, he probably wouldn’t have wanted people free-groping at will or anything, even if it had been by accident. It helped a bit that she’d been on his side for the Nero incident, and that had smoothed things over (not completely, but well enough) between them that they had a working relationship. As his Communications Officer, she was as professional as she was snarky, and that she was as well-versed as she was in as many cultures as she knew languages. It was a good thing she was too; or else Jim would’ve had more diplomatic incidents than Starfleet could legally strip his command for than historically ever documented. It kind of sucked that she thought Jim was an idiot (which he wasn’t, thank you very much), but you couldn’t have everything. As it was, Jim was undoubtedly grateful that she respected him enough not to question his decisions made as captain.  
  
That job, of course, was reserved for his First officer. Who Jim was currently watching being a sorry sight right now on the bridge. A _very_ sorry sight that was kind of heart-breaking. It was the kind of sight that gave Jim this overwhelmingly paternal urge to demand the two of them fix it right now. Normally, Jim minded his own business—sure, he was obnoxious to some point and kind of tactless when it came to sex, but he knew enough that as far as things working went, it wasn’t going to work out really well now. He had the urge to march up to Uhura right away and demand that whatever had happened between them, they resolved by way of kissing and making up. Maybe it wasn’t the most reasonable of solutions, but Jim was frustrated enough. Proficiency was decent enough—both of them did they work like always—if you were looking for that kind of thing, but _goddammit_ , Jim didn’t think he could stand being on the bridge a minute longer while the two of them were playing a game of nope-we-did-not-just-break-up-so-mind-your-own-business.  
  
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Jim said carefully, gauging Uhura’s response.  
  
She’d just given him the update regarding the transmission they’d received, but other than that, there was no forthcoming information; not enough to really understand what was up and what was down. In fact, she didn’t even glance up from her station or acknowledge him, and leaving it to settle uncomfortably upon everyone’s shoulders.  
  
“Thank you as well, Mr. Spock,” Jim also said, albeit slightly less at leisure, turning to the direction of his First Officer.  
  
It felt weird in his mouth, but maybe because he’d been using it rather a lot these few days, he seemed to be more aware of it. His mouth had a tendency to form the vowels of Spock’s name before he even realized what he was going to say—probably it was because Jim used Spock’s name more than anything because Spock was pretty much the person Jim talked to the most. Spock was Jim’s wall. He bounced ideas off him, Spock raised an eyebrow and talked about the logic, and somewhere along the line they’d find a compromising plan.  
  
Jim’d begun to get used to it, which was kind of why this silence also sucked, in a way.  
  
He was pretty sure Spock had heard him—Vulcans had amazing hearing, or something—but his First Officer didn’t even look back to respond to him, or say anything about how it was obviously his job to do it, and therefore no thanks should be warranted like he always did. Instead, there was this almost painful silence that was even more painful than the one with Uhura, because Spock wasn’t even acknowledging him.  
  
Jim felt like he’d been slapped.  
  
He sunk further back into his seat, slouching and scowling at both their backs. Either they noticed, or they were too afraid to look at each other. In either case, neither saw fit to reprimand him for his bridge manner.  
  
It stood to reason that if Spock wasn’t going to do it, there sure as hell was as little a chance that anyone else was going to. Sulu respected him enough and knew well enough to leave problems off the bridge, and plus, they were like soul buddies bounded by a transient experience. Chekov respected him too, if not outright admired him at times, though Jim was pretty sure Chekov was still trying to figure out a way to outmatch him in their hypothetical physics what-if scenarios they’d often talk about in the rec room. Uhura wasn’t talking to anyone at the moment. Which left Spock, who was pretty much the only one person who could actively challenge him about how he’d chosen to walk into the bridge that morning (but he hadn’t), to do so in similar degrees now.  
  
Spock, who, of course, wasn’t saying anything. Not a word. Zip. Nada.  
  
While it wasn’t in Jim’s grounds or job description to go around patching up strained relationships, it didn’t help anyone else on the bridge easier. Chekov was probably hit the hardest, being the youngest here. It might also have been why his navigator had been turning frightened looks at him with every strained interaction between Jim’s Communications and Science Officers. Sulu was the perfect model of a helmsman, attentive and professional, but he was a good friend to Chekov either way, giving him a slight pat on the shoulder several times and offering slight smiles. In all honesty, there wasn’t much any of them could really say without the bridge feeling even more awkward, so Jim sat discontentedly, antsy, and finger-drumming and people-watching. Thumb-twiddling was long overrated.  
  
He really hated it. What was this, high school?  
  
Spock was really good. As in, really good at hiding who he was trying to sneak looks at. But it kind of didn’t work even if Spock was trying to be all Vulcan-y about it. Maybe if Jim didn’t really know him as well as he did, he wouldn’t have noticed the way Spock stiffened whenever Uhura even glanced up from her station, or how the two of them pointedly looked the other way and made all contacts minimal. If they needed to communicate, it was professional, to the point, and not much on the social aspect of ‘oh hey how are you doing’ and ‘oh not bad just a little tired you’. If they needed to look in each other’s directions, they looked at anywhere but each other. Jim was half-convinced they had some kind of routine going on, a ‘you don’t look this way when I look this way’ kind of telepathic link that let both of them know when it was safe to look because he’d never caught them otherwise. That, or they were both convinced the ship was going to explode upon eye contact.  
  
Strangely enough, Jim couldn’t help but think that he probably was one of the only few people in the world right now who could tell that Spock was heartbroken. It probably didn’t help that Jim kept looking back at Spock. There was barely any movement from his station, sort of like Spock was this stone wall and nothing could ever hope to budge him.  
  
It was an understatement to say that Jim was concerned. Uhura, at least, was doing something on her console. Spock, on the other hand, stared at his as though doing so would fix all his troubles.

\--

Time crawled by. Sometime in the meantime Yeoman Rand the devil herself brought over a PADD filled with things for Jim to look at, approve or reject, and sign off.  
  
It was a welcome distraction, even if Jim had never been partial to paperwork. Classes back at the Academy he’d pretty much done by the seat of his pants, intuition, and a good deal of self-motivation—there was a reason why he’d been on the command track instead of sciences, though there had been those few courses in Engineering and Physics because Jim figured if it ever turned out that his assigned starship had a breakdown of sorts, the least he could do was to help patch the Lady up. He just hadn’t expected it’d have been the Enterprise, which made Jim’s rather excellent memory helpful as he scrolled through the list, and gave a quiet whistle every time he came across something uncommon.  
  
Then again, anything uncommon on other ships was common enough on the U.S.S. Enterprise.  
  
Jim sighed, as he continued scrolling through. It was kind of funny, really, how most of the stuff he needed to sign off for were requests from Engineering. But considering how hard he pushed Scotty’s department, it was probably karma. Not that Jim minded; it wasn’t him footing the bill, after all, but it was plenty entertaining enough.  
  
Several particulars he stopped, and paused at. When he reached the part about the Jeffries tubes and the suggested labels, he all but snorted. _Goes Nowhere, Does Nothing. Good one, Scotty._  
  
He froze immediately when the rest of his bridge crew snapped their heads to look at him.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, “Just found something funny, that’s all.”  
  
By habit, Jim glanced over to where Spock was, but he’d never moved. Everyone else on the bridge didn’t encourage any further explanation either, so Jim was stuck either trying to make the impossible happen (which he _would do just because he could_ , but that would involve patience Jim wasn’t gifted with) or go back to what he was doing earlier. Unhappy, Jim returned to his paperwork, while Yeoman Rand waited patiently like the pure evil she was, looming over his shoulder like Jim’s fourth grade teacher.  
  
“How much more of this do I have to do?” he asked his Yeoman quietly.  
  
She took his PADD away from him, and then returned it to him, with a new list.  
  
Jim groaned, and slouched even further on the Captain’s chair, and glared at the PADD as though it was a harbinger of bad news.  
  
All the while, Spock didn’t move an inch.

\--

The shift was over. Jim didn’t realize it until Spock immediately left the bridge and headed for the turbo lift, while Uhura spent her sweet time working at something at her console as though it was the most interesting thing on the Enterprise (maybe it was, but Jim wasn’t betting on it because the Lady as a whole was too perfect to be less interesting than anything else). His Communications officer didn’t seem keen on moving, and everyone else seemed to vote that way too. Yeomand Rand, in the meantime, was checking over his work. If Jim wanted now to talk to Spock, now was the time.  
  
Far be it from Jim to ever let an opportunity slip him by. He opted to follow Spock close behind, barely making it into the turbo lift himself before it closed behind him by a mere hair.  
  
“Hey, hold the door.” He chagrined lightly, but Spock stiffened up, at the perfect picture of parade rest, and said nothing in return, even as Jim settled beside him. “Deck 5.”  
  
Deck 5, which was compromised of basically the Captain’s quarters and the senior officer quarters, was probably where Spock was headed too, from how he was almost inching towards the door. It might’ve been kind of hilarious at one point, if it’d been in any situation but now. Spock leaned almost as though he was prepared to bolt for it, but it was very subtle. Being naturally cat-like—or at least, as much as anyone Jim had ever known—there was this almost imperceptive grace to it, but also a tension. If Jim hadn’t spent a lot of his time trying to figure out how to read Spock, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.  
  
 “Captain,” Spock acknowledged, but asides from that Jim was pretty sure he wasn’t even going to get a ‘ _how were you, Captain, I hope Lieutenant Uhura and I were not inconveniencing you or the bridge crew in any way_ ’.  
  
From how he hunched his shoulders slightly as he spoke, it was pretty obvious that Spock wanted to be alone as fast as possible. It was completely in Jim’s power to do so, too, but it didn’t mean he wanted to. Despite all the concessions he’d been able to make with Spock since their almost unlikely friendship that had begun with a severely emotionally compromised half-Vulcan choking Jim to death, Jim found he was not willing to make this one. Didn’t Spock consider them to be friends? He couldn’t understand why Spock didn’t want to at least talk to him about it—it wasn’t as if Spock had broken up with _Jim_ , for god’s sake. And if anything, friends were supposed to be there to help with this sort of thing. Not be shoved away.  
  
Then again, Jim decided, it kind of made sense because nothing with Spock was ever easy. You never really got what you gave in back. Briefly, he wondered if he was going to get anything out of Spock.  
  
“How was your day?” Jim tried.  
  
It never hurt to ask. Normally, Spock was respond with a ‘ _satisfactory’_ or ‘ _it is illogical to ask of a day, Captain_ ’, followed by some inane Vulcan logic. If not, Spock would just explain briefly the very reason his attention couldn’t really be focused on Jim (which rarely happened). Instead of responding, Spock followed the same pattern as on the bridge. He ignored him as though Jim had never spoken in the first place. It really wasn’t surprising, considering what’d happened on the bridge—or what didn’t—but Jim couldn’t help but dislike it.  
  
It was aggravating, to say the least. Jim liked being able to at least get an inkling of the kinds of people he worked with. Spock was probably the hardest of them all; what with Vulcan control pretty much schooling all of his facial features. That being said, communication was one of the ways Jim could pretty much use to figure out people. It helped that most of them had similar ways of expressing key emotions, like anger or delight. But with Spock? It’d be like dropping his pants in the middle of the bridge and expecting it to carry through in a way Standard couldn’t. It was either going to be a hit or a miss, but Jim would come out of it no better if not worse than he’d originally begun.  
  
Glancing over Spock didn’t bring to mind any epiphanies. Spock’s face was blank, unreadable, and he looked straight ahead as though he couldn’t stand to look anyone in the eye. So obviously, something was wrong, asides from the rather obvious fact it had something to do with him and Uhura not talking. Jim really didn’t need to know warp theory (even though he kind of did) to know that it was probably like what he’d initially thought: they’d broken up.  
  
“Everything a-okay, Spock?”  
  
It was a direct question that Spock had to answer, or else it’d seem like he was confirming it. Jim could almost see the gears in his mind turning as he struggled with himself, before quietly responding that yes, it was.  
  
“ _Really_.”  
  
Spock didn’t heed the challenge in Jim’s voice inviting him to _prove it_. Instead, he answered patiently like he always did any of Jim’s rather dismal ideas.  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
Jim frowned, mouth drawing into a line.  
  
“I didn’t see that from where I was sitting,” Jim said.  
  
“I assure you, I have no understanding to what you are referring.”  
  
Was Spock for real? He was dodging around the question, not giving a straight answer; it was pretty obvious he didn’t want to answer Jim at all. So why wasn’t he? It wasn’t like Jim wasn’t trying to help him out; and maybe if Spock wanted to deal with this alone, Jim could let him. But he didn’t want to—friends didn’t do that, and he was pretty sure he was one of the few ones that Spock had.  
  
“I’m pretty sure you had a good idea from how you and Uhura just pretty much tried to play the Nothing’s Wrong card.”  
  
Very subtly, Spock stiffened. Jim noticed it right away, frowning even more.  
  
Maybe he was choosing to interpret it a certain way, but he was pretty sure he’d hit home about _something_. The matters in particular Jim was pretty sure was private, but him trying to find out what was going on wasn’t a product of nosiness or an inability to mind his own business.  
  
He was worried. It wasn’t a lie. And Jim couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a loss as to the best way to react. He didn’t often put himself in a situation when winging it or dolling out the charm wouldn’t do its business for him. Most of the time during away missions, he flung everything and drove by the seat of his pants—but that was just the thing. Those were away missions. You prepared for them by being equally unpredictable and adaptable. This was Spock. Jim couldn’t really predict him at all as much as he would’ve liked, and he had no doubt Spock intended to keep it that way.  
  
“You need not concern yourself, Captain,” Spock said, staring at the doors as though willing them open.  
  
God. Could Spock be full of any more bullshit? What kind of guy did he think Jim was?  
  
“Right, no concerning myself. Uh-huh.” It came out a little accusing than Jim intended, so he tried to fix that. “No, seriously, Spock. I’m worried, alright? What’s up with that on the bridge?”  
  
Spock didn’t respond.  
  
“Spock?”  
  
“It is of a private matter,” Spock said carefully.  
  
“Private matter, my _ass_ , Spock,” Jim said, frustrated.  
  
If Spock wanted to play like he didn’t know, maybe Jim should’ve been okay with it. It pretty much said that Spock didn’t want to talk about it—but really? How long was it going to be avoiding the topic and never addressing it?  
  
He sighed.  
  
“Okay, so maybe it is, but if it’s going to lead to another shift like _that_ on the bridge?”  
  
He blanched immediately.  
  
No, that wasn’t what Jim wanted to say. What he’d just said made him sound like a pompous _asshole_ who didn’t want uncomfortable things happening on his bridge because it inconvenienced him and everyone else. What he _wanted_ to say was that he didn’t want to see Spock acting like this anymore, and not because he was trying to be mean. He just really wanted to see Spock being happy again.  
  
It was a sentimental reason, maybe, or maybe just plain childish, but Jim found he didn’t care.  
  
 “I will take measures to amend myself. I will be more suitably amiable after I have meditated.”  
  
Vulcans didn’t lie—or so Spock had told him on more than one occasion. At the moment, Jim was inclined to think it _was_ a lie, but one of omission.  
  
“Oh, that is a _lie_ and you know it,” Jim accused. “You’re just going to pretend everything’s alright, but really never deal with it again, aren’t you?”  
  
Spock’s mouth drew into a thin line.  
  
“Captain,” he said very slowly. “I request you cease this line of questioning at once.”  
  
It was a lost cause. Jim was sure that’d be what other people would say, and that was pretty much how he probably should’ve felt. He wasn’t made for long lines of questioning people, and was pretty much impatient by nature, true. That meant that right now he wanted to grab Spock and shake him, or find _some_ way—some way that was _immediate_ —and get Spock to tell him. But it didn’t mean that he believed in a no-win scenario.  
  
He supposed his stubbornness extended to stuff like this. It frustrated him that he couldn’t get Spock to say anything, or at least let Jim help.  
  
Eyeing the knot of tension he could see in Spock’s shoulders, Jim tried to think of something that _wouldn’t_ get Spock racing off the turbo lift immediately as soon as the doors open. Making light conversation was really about the only thing he could do, so what other choice did Jim have? Spock avoided any direct approaches on the subject, and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to Jim pushing the issue anymore than he allowed. Frankly, Jim was surprised Spock hadn’t just come out and told him that it wasn’t any of his business. But then again, if that happened, it would probably mean Spock wasn’t too cool with Jim anymore.  
  
For some reason, the idea of Spock not wanting to talk to him was more alarming than Spock ignoring him on the bridge. There, he could at least pretend that Spock hadn’t heard him, and confronted him about it later; but then he’d _done_ that just now. And it wasn’t helping out at all.  
  
He sighed, and turned his own attention to the lift doors. Miraculously, they had yet to open, which was grand, as far as Jim was concerned. Or not, depending how you looked at it.  
  
“So. Away mission. That was pretty cool, right?” Jim paused, hopeful that maybe Spock would actually try to converse with him, but there was no response. “I bet your department’s having an early Christmas analyzing their readings.”  
  
Spock made no move to really continue the conversation.  
  
Far from discouraged, Jim continued.

“So anyway, you know that post-mission examination that away teams always need to do, right? The one Bones made me stay an extra hour for?” Jim paused. “Well, guess what?”

Spock turned slightly in his direction, and if that wasn’t interest in his eyes and a bit of smugness in Jim’s voice as a result, Jim didn’t know what they were.

“He ended up testing me for xenobiological diseases too, which is awkward, considering. But yeah.” Jim shrugged, letting the grin stretch his face where he hadn’t known he’d been sorely missing the familiar feeling. “Officially? I’m now allergic to over four thousand species of plants, animals, viruses, and vaccines combined.”

 “That is not necessarily a thing to be proud of, Captain.”

Something in Jim’s stomach clenched and unclenched at the sound of Spock’s voice, careful and cautious, yet smooth and fluid and _not_ telling him to fuck off. If he tried to analyze it, maybe there was a kind of mirth in there—but he didn’t think he needed to. There was something in Spock’s eyes that _sparked_.

Jim was thrilled.

“It’s still an achievement.” He pointed out.

“Hardly one to be self-satisfied about.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Affirmative, Captain.” Spock clasped his hands behind his back, though Jim wasn’t sure when he hadn’t.

“I heard from Bones earlier that you had to do a physical examination. He wouldn’t tell me anymore, though.”

There was a pause that told Jim he just said something he shouldn’t have said. The kind of tension that told you, _well, son, not sure how to tell you but I think you’ve fucked up somehow._

Very carefully, Spock took a breath.

“It is a matter of patient-doctor confidentiality, Captain.” He said antagonistically.

“Cool.” Jim shrugged, but he couldn’t keep the grin from sliding off his face, feeling slightly numb.

Spock didn’t respond.

“But you’re feeling well enough now, right? Are you okay? You eating well and anything?”

Not to sound like a mother hen, but Jim really just wanted the old Spock back as happy and Spock-like as could be, and not closed in his own shell tighter than a clam and rammed farther up his ass than Jim would’ve thought possible each time the line was crossed. But that was that. Spock was stiff, and there was no familiar welcoming posture— _god_ , Jim didn’t even know how he could even tell there was a difference, both versions of them _looked_ the same.

“You have already inquired after my health.” Spock pointed out, as though he was pissed off—he probably _was_ too, only he was being pissed off in his own Vulcan way and kind of being a bit bitchy about it. He stared at Jim as though just doing that would sort of imply the rest (which it did), but Jim wasn’t having any of it.

Instead of flinching, Jim felt furious. Spock only really used this kind of defence mechanism (defensive as in piss the person or humiliate them so they’d leave him alone) if he had no other choice. If Jim wanted answers, he had to force his First Officer’s hand. And was it going to be this? Was Spock going to lie to him that everything was alright?

“Sorry. No idea it was offensive to care about a friend,” Jim shot, but it came out with a lot more bite than he intended. He didn’t take it back though, turning back to staring at the doors, hands clenching at his sides and dark scowl directed ahead, refusing to make any more comments or start any further conversations. It was decidedly childish of him, _maybe_ , but Jim didn’t _want_ to take it back. He was frustrated and he was at a loss as to how to deal with this. Fights at Academy or— _hell_ , even at _school_ —had been easily solved with a fist here and there. Jim had no doubt that Spock would win, but it was the fact that Spock would stop talking to him altogether that Jim hated.

As Spock fell silent beside him, he wondered why it was taking so long for the turbo lift to arrive to its destination, and what the hell was he going to do now. Spock rejecting any kind of attempt to initiate conversation outright was like a slap in the face. Had it been yesterday, maybe the two of them would’ve been commenting offhandedly about something. Jim might’ve been gesturing, and Spock would’ve nodded and been content to listen. Or they would be debating about something good-naturedly, and that’d lead into another game of chess. Chess that Jim was sorely missing in his life—his 3-D set was still somewhere in his quarters where and as they’d both left it when they’d been called to the bridge for an emergency.

The two of them had crashed heavily in their own quarters after that, or at least, Jim had, so he had no idea about what had happened in between the hours until they’d met again on shift. Whatever it was, he was pretty sure it hadn’t been pretty. If it’d been an argument, Jim would’ve been woken up by it. His quarters were linked to Spock’s by a shared bathroom (so probably whoever made the blueprints either had a kind of commanding officer kink or they needed to save space for the sleeker design) by a single wall. It would’ve been no trouble at all to have heard Spock or Uhura had they been angry enough to yell or physically fight.

Jim doubted it was the latter. He just didn’t see it, though he did see things either being misunderstood, or _something._ In all honesty, he had no idea. Jim didn’t know _half_ of the things people needed to know to have committed relationships; all his hook-ups had been short, and any second Jim had found himself becoming comfortable or falling a bit too much in love, he’d grabbed his pants and ran straight out as fast as he could. Despite how funny it would be if either of his two senior officers had done ever done that, it probably wasn’t the case. Plus, Spock hadn’t been there when Jim had tried to see earlier if he’d be up for coming with him on shift. Maybe that was a sign that Spock really didn’t want to go talking about private things with him.

Somehow, Jim didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of finding out what was up. It wasn’t his business, and quite frankly, Jim had always been careful of these kinds of relationships. The kinds where shit could come down like this and you wouldn’t know which way to turn. Asides from that, Jim knew he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of _dancing_ around a topic either. He hated it. He’d thought that being friends meant that there could’ve been something the two of them would’ve talked about. Nope. Now it was Spock pretending nothing was wrong when something obviously was.

Jim usually steered clear of stuff like this, but this was _Spock._ Why _couldn’t_ Jim involve himself in it?

“Captain.”

“It’s _Jim_.” He scowled at the doors. “I’m off-duty. Call me Jim.”

Be damned if Jim couldn’t at least get that, and Jim was going to punch Spock in the face—okay, maybe not, but he felt pretty inclined to. He’d thought they were at least friends to share stuff with. Maybe Jim was being a hypocrite because there were certainly some things he’d prefer sharing with Bones than Spock, but it was the person that it mattered about. He didn’t doubt he’d ask Spock about things he was conflicted over, and he didn’t doubt he’d ask Spock for advice if it turned out he and Bones ever did get into a fight.

It must’ve shown in how his shoulders lifted as he jammed his fingers into his pockets, because Jim felt Spock’s eyes stay on him for a very long time. He didn’t bother looking back at him. As far as Jim supposed Spock was concerned, it probably was for the best anyway.

“Jim,” Spock said quietly, almost pacifying.

Immediately, Jim felt like an asshole, shame washing over him for being such a hot-headed asshole, but his lips tightened into a thinner line.

“Yeah?” he grunted.

Spock didn’t answer for a while. “I will be meditating until the next shift.”

Whether or not it was in Spock’s best interest to lock himself in his room and meditate it all out until he was as cool and as calm as a breeze, Jim didn’t know. Personally speaking, Jim couldn’t really say anything about meditation; he didn’t deal well with sitting in the same position for hours on end. But if it helped Spock, it was all good, right?

It dawned upon him that maybe Spock was offering him some sort of window of opportunity to talk about this, but the thought soured his stomach. If that conversation was going to be anything like the one they’d just had, it wouldn’t go anywhere at all.

“You want me to pick you up and we can go together?” He asked, and was surprised when it came out so _damn_ hopeful. It made his stomach flop nervously for a reason he couldn’t put down. “So you don’t end up late or anything?”

“Negative. I will not be ‘late’.”

Jim put up his hands in a patented _okay-fine-sure_ , but already, he felt like he’d just been blown off.

“Cool,” he said, and tried not to take it to heart.

The lift doors opened, and just like Jim had predicted, Spock was out of there before he could say anything else.

For a while, Jim stewed in the turbo lift, and then looked up. His hand came to rub at the back of his neck, and a scowl fell on his face.

“Well,” He muttered to himself. “That went well.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh, yes, part two is coming along swimmingly only what gives, right? I am slowly trying to edge into this, and uh yes it has been several months but to be honest I was kind of at a loss as to how to get--well, technically, well okay. The star of this chapter is totally Bones, guys. I love that man. Seriously. Next thing I'm posting up is something with Bones in it, and it's going to awesomely help me practice for writing him in TCTD. TRUTH. This is Part 2 of more parts. Yessir. **Also I am ready for that second-born, okay.**  
>  Written for [beederiffic](http://beederiffic.livejournal.com) at [ksvalentine](http://ksvalentine.livejournal.com).

So in all honesty, Jim had several options. He could go back to his quarters and possibly mull over this like some kind of girl wondering whether or not she’d gone too far trying to argue with her best friend or play the better person and wonder whether or not they’d both been wrong. Or, he could totally try to distract himself and pretend it never happened. As he’d never been a feelings type person—or at least, not a  _I’m going to try to get in touch with my inner self_ kind of person—Jim figured it wasn’t too hard.  
  
That being said, pretending stuff never happened wasn’t really Jim’s style. Maybe it was the fact that Jim himself never really did well in the pretending aspect of things, unless you meant bragging and exaggeration and all the neat tricks you could use in a bar to pick up people. Maybe he didn’t so much as look back and hate himself for it rather than try not to look back at all. Jim was horrible at pretending. Now, acting? Jim was a miracle-worker when it needed to be, but he sorely doubted he could act like nothing was the matter while Spock meditated in the other room.  
  
Yeah—no matter what, Jim’s quarters were definitely and kind of out of the question. If it hadn’t made sense already that Jim would be thinking about how awkward it was going to be the next time he and Spock met (or at least, he imagined it would be), he probably would’ve went there to chill. Maybe Jim could read, relax and unwind a bit, work on some work (as if), or just go out to the rec room and see what he could do. Maybe punch a few rounds in the gymnasium, try to work out his frustrations on a stray punching bag or something. Still, the prospect of going back too early and maybe encountering Spock or just thinking about him—which Jim was entirely inclined to do considering he’d been a bit clingy on the fact that Spock used to share everything with him (okay maybe not  _everything_ , but it was the principle of the thing that counted)—wasn’t exactly what Jim wanted to think about.  
  
He couldn’t really go back.  
  
“Deck 7,” he announced.  
  
Normally, Jim avoided the sickbay like hell on earth. He honestly had no really fond memories of waking up in the place; usually it meant that something was wrong with him, and usually it was his own fault. Of course, Jim liked to argue otherwise, but Bones didn’t like listening to theories and just pretty much blamed it all on Jim. It wasn’t the worst kinds of assumptions Bones could have made—most of the time, he got them right, too—but it would’ve killed camaraderie and nipped it in the bud had Jim not already been friends with Bones long before in Academy.  
  
Today, Jim wasn’t going to the sickbay for the pleasant, welcoming atmosphere. Nah—he was here for Bones.  
  
Out of all the things Jim had ever depended on, only one of them was an actual person. That one person, all things considered, was known to be a scary-ass hypo-wielding maniac. It went without saying; that had been reason why Bones and no other was currently his chief medical officer.  
  
To an outsider, Bones might’ve been callous and gruff to everyone (read: Jim) who kept on coming into Sickbay as a “post-suicidal moron”, but Jim had been his roommate for the three years or so he’d been at the Academy. You didn’t get to know a person without being both thrown up on and going through shit with. So, underneath that rough exterior, Jim knew he was a soft, fluffy, Southerner who actually cared to listen and most probably would give him great advice as to what to do to cheer Spock up. Or at least, to just figure out what to do, because common sense had never really applied to Jim, not when he could’ve just broken the rules and somehow made something work. That, Jim supposed, was why he was going there in the first place.  
  
The lift stopped without any interruption, obeying every reliably as it always did, except for when everyone was in a panic and quite possibly they were all going to die in space. That was the thing with these things, and Jim was pretty sure it only had to do with the fact that the Lady didn’t thrive under pressure.  
  
Jim stepped off. Even if space was kind of an eternal night, the sensors all around him lit up the hallways bright and ready at a moment’s notice. It was kind of nice, Jim thought happily, when he was allowed to actually have time to appreciate the Lady he served on. She was beautiful, that much was said, and it wasn’t just because she was the newest in a line that Starfleet was putting out. She  _was_  beautiful. She worked like a dream, she took care of them all, and Jim was pretty sure that even when this mission was up, he’d have to be pried away from her hull before he let them take her away. That, and Scotty would probably have to fight him for her.  
  
“Give me a minute,” Bones said, when he spotted him. He was busy with a patient, so Jim shrugged his shoulders and set himself to wait as he watched nurses work.  
  
It wasn’t weird to say the least, but a lot of these faces he was more or less used to seeing from the operating table.  
  
A ‘minute’ turned out to be three hours until Bones wasn’t busy enough to see him. Jim had begun to get antsy. He had never really been good at standing still for so long, and really wished he’d brought along something to do. By the time Bones was done, Jim was already leaning against the wall, jaw tightened, and gaze dark.  
  
“Are you  _sulking_?” Bones demanded. When Jim refused to answer—no, he was  _not_ , Bones, shut up—the doctor rolled his eyes and dragged him by his elbow. “Come on,” he said, in a lighter, placating tone, and pulled him to his office. It wasn’t really an office so much as a room off to the side, but it was good enough for the CMO and it was definitely good enough for Jim so much as he got to talk to his best friend. “Let’s get something into you.”  
  
It was an inappropriate joke waiting to happen, but Jim didn’t think he wanted to. All he really wanted to do was drink, and then maybe spill his guts. Not literally, because Bones would probably had a heart attack and as much as Jim liked to make it difficult for his best friend—or so Bones claimed he did whenever he went off on away missions—he really wouldn’t have done that, not to Bones. At least, not if he could help it. There was apparently this whole universal law that some way or another, Jim never got away with minor things in Sickbay.  
  
Bones’s office was nice. Jim liked it a lot. Though it was at best called messy, Jim found it reassuring. He really didn’t know why. Maybe it was a holo-vid on the desk that Jim had played once when Bones hadn’t been looking and had never looked at again because it’d been a matter of both shame at invading his best friend’s privacy and a matter of the material on the holo-vid itself that Jim had had no right to peek at—Joanna’s first steps. Maybe it was the ultimately familiar yet messy and organized way that only Bones and Nurse Chapel could really only find things in that Jim had gotten so used to when he’d roomed with Bones back in the Academy. The only really smidgen of privacy was the door, but Jim had never really minded it—it was nice in Bones’s office because not too many people could be invited in here, and Jim knew for a fact he was the only person who made multiple visits.  
  
He glanced around. Things had hardly changed since his last visit, though Jim never kept track.  
  
“Sit,” Bones told him.  
  
He had barely sat down when Bones pulled something out from the side and didn’t even look up until he had a bottle on the table, poured it into two shot glasses, and thrust what looked to be a very hard and some very illegally filled shot glass at him. Jim took it with ease, glancing at the colour, and thinking  _oh man this is going to fuck shit up in me._ It was both appealing and unappealing at the same time.  
  
Jim grinned, and if it didn’t make him cheer up so much as know that Bones understood, at least to some aspect, the ways he could help without Jim even needing to ask, then it reassured him. “I knew there was a reason why I loved you.”  
  
“I’m sure your ‘love’ is something of a creative definition.”  
  
“There’s always a first for everything.”  
“Yeah,” Bones snorted, “And it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m the one patching you up every time. Now, take a sniff and if  
you don’t have an allergic reaction, you can drink.”  
  
“I’d drink it anyway,” Jim protested lightly to Bones’s exasperated look, took a sniff and nearly choked.  
  
“Doing alright there?” Bones asked. He should  _not_  have sounded that amused. What if Jim really  _was_ allergic? Well true, he probably wouldn’t have cared, but—it was the principle of the thing.  
  
“Where’d you get this stuff?” Jim managed out. Seriously, this kind of stuff was  _hard_  stuff. Jim was  _pretty_  sure this had to either be smuggled aboard, or –  
  
“Traded for it,” Bones replied, and raised an eyebrow as thought daring Jim to ask. It was probably best not to.  
  
“Cheers,” Jim murmured, and Bones echoed it, both of them raising it up before Jim downed it in one and wordlessly asked for another. Bones obliged him, even if it tasted like someone had decided to create a drink that embodied all sorts of  _things of which we do not speak_  that would effectively act like paint thinner to your esophagus. Here was to hoping his stomach held up.  
  
To his credit, his old friend didn’t make a comment until both of them were on their third glass. It was too strong to have been allowed on a ship—inebriation on the job for one of the reasons, but Jim wasn’t really concentrating on power abusage by the CMO. He was grateful. It didn’t feel awkward at all, sharing a bottle in between them, nothing but an amiable silence in between them.  
  
Soon, whatever Jim had had tying himself in knots about came ravelling loose. Bones listened patiently for a while, before cutting him off with a hand.  
  
“Jim, what have I told you about thinking before you speak?” Bones asked, exasperated, but he seemed to understand. “So the hobgoblin’s been having love troubles? Doesn’t surprise me.”  
  
“Yeah, but. He’s not acting very Spock-like.”  
  
“Right, and I suppose you’d be an expert.”  
  
Jim scowled. “Listen to me.” When Bones said nothing, he continued. “So I try to talk to him on the bridge, right?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“He doesn’t say a word.” Jim glared fiercely at his drink . “Didn’t. At all.”  
  
“Ever considered that sometimes people don’t want to talk to you?” Bones asked, but it wasn’t meant to be biting, so Jim ignored it.  
  
“The weird thing is that usually, Spock  _says_  something, or at least,  _reacts_.” Jim protested. “That shift? He  _ignored_  me, completely. And I swear I didn’t do anything bad.”  
  
“Asides from what you normally do, right?”  
  
“That’s just it,” He bit out, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. This whole thing was way too heavy and complicated. “Normally I’d get a response, right? Maybe an eyebrow lifting up, maybe a  _Jim this is a terrible idea_  look, maybe a  _please excuse me everyone while I full-out show off my Vulcan bad-ass-ery skills_ or a  _why don’t you let the logical one take charge_  kind of thing _,_ but there was  _nothing_.” He leaned back, feeling deflated. “At all.”  
  
“Coming from an outsider’s point of view, it just seems like he’s having a bad day.”  
  
“I don’t like it.” Jim breathed out deeply, and looked troubled. “I just wish he’d talk to me about it, whatever that’s eating him up.”  
  
Bones sighed, looking sympathetic—or at least as sympathetic as Bones could get, which was actually pretty sympathetic in a  _not-gonna-stab-you-with-a-hypo-and-rant-about-why-you’re-going-to-die-because-of-your-impulsive-and-contagious-stupidity_  kind of way—and poured Jim another glass.  
  
Gratefully, Jim took it down in one, wincing as it burned his throat.  
  
“You aren’t trained in this, Jim, and you’re certainly not made for things like this,” Bones said quietly. “Furthermore, much as I hate to break it to you, he’s not obligated to talk to you.”  
  
It was the kind of silence where a pin could drop and no one would say a thing.  
  
From across the other side of the table, Jim looked at Bones. In his own opinion, Bones hadn’t changed too much. Maybe more frown lines in his mouth, maybe more wrinkles in his brow, and maybe more inclined to look angry and yell if the occasion called for it. But the thing was, Bones knew exactly how things were, and there wasn’t any two ways to go about it except directly.  
  
“I wish he would,” he said quietly. “He shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.” He glared at Bones, almost challenging, but the older man didn’t rise to the challenge.  
  
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that,” Bones soothed, and poured another shot. “But there are different definitions of friendships and different kinds of them.  Say you and I here. It’s not really ever going to be the same as Spock and you, right?”  
  
Jim thought briefly of his time back on Delta Vega. Freezing his ass off, cursing Spock’s name and thinking  _holy shit that **asshole marooned me**_ , and trying desperately not to get killed by some rabid Jim-eating monster or two. Thinking back on it, it was kind of amazing that he’d lived to tell the tale—but that wasn’t what Jim wanted to think about.  
  
Try as he might, Jim didn’t think he could ever forget that friendly smile. Rough, aged fingers against his face, and the almost reassuring feel of the old man’s mind—Jim remembered it even now.  
  
The old man hadn’t even needed to say anything, because that belief had already placed itself into Jim’s mind, along with all the information. But it was the words that had really given Jim the courage, the belief to think that may this would actually work, mind buzzing with impulsive ideas about what to do.  
  
It was without a doubt that Jim wanted at least a taste of that friendship, or at least, to have a chance to have it. Not only did it  _scare_  him—because Jim didn’t  _do_  closeness, and really, Bones was the closest person that Jim had let in, for _years_ —but it held so much for him. Potential, just the giving in and getting something that wasn’t shit back, and Jim didn’t mind if it accompanied it, so long as he got it. If he wanted something like that from Spock— _his_  Spock—then it’d be like the Vulcan equivalent of pulling teeth. He had no doubt the old man would give it to him unconditionally, but that was because he’d already known the other Jim Kirk.  
  
“Jim?” Bones asked. Jim had stayed quiet for too long. “Some things need a little time, and not everyone wants to talk to you about their love lives.”  
  
“But we’re supposed to have an epic friendship that kicks ass,” he said, at last. It wasn’t fair. “Epic as in you couldn’t possibly know how epic,  _holy shit motherfuckers, bow down to us_  kind of epic.”  
  
It might’ve been nice to tell Bones about the Spock from an alternate timeline who’d saved his ass, but then that might’ve led into alternate Spock and Jim’s Spock into meeting—and Jim was far from advocating the implosion of the world. He liked how it was, thank you very much.  
  
Bones looked, if anything, slightly amused if not still impartial to what probably was to him Jim’s raging optimism. “One that involves sharing about love lives? Don’t you think that’s kind of personal?”  
  
It sounded ridiculous, when Bones put it that way.  
  
“Okay, I see your point.”  
  
“Thanks,” Bones said, not sounding thankful at all, but he looked thoughtful. “So what do you two do exactly, asides from play Captain and his Vulcan sidekick all day long?”  
  
“Chess, I guess?”  
  
“And? That’s it?”  
  
“Yeah?” he shrugged, and felt distinctly uncomfortable with himself for some reason.  
  
“ _Christ_ , Jim, that’s probably why he’s not so inclined to share his love life. That’s really private stuff.”  
  
“I guess.” He grimaced.  
  
Spock was probably meditating the shit out of himself. Frankly, Jim didn’t like the idea of his First Officer being an unfeeling robot was the best of ideas as much as the next guy. Plus, it’d even taken time to convince Spock that playing chess with him was a good idea. For the last five weeks since their nightly games had begun, it’d been the sole thing Jim had looked forward to other than sleep by the end of the shift.  
  
As he stared deep into his empty glass, Jim came to the conclusion that the room was swaying kind of funny.  
  
“What is that stuff?” Jim asked. “Can I have some more?”  
  
“I think you’ve had enough to have a good night’s sleep, at least.” Bones replied, glancing a bit at the bottle, resealing it, and putting it away. He took a stubborn Jim’s glass away from him (“Wait, no I want to hold that—” “Jim, you can hold it the next time you visit Sickbay, I promise. I’ll put a ribbon on it and everything with your name on it.”) and helped him to his feet.  
  
“Am I going to have a hangover?” Jim asked.  
  
“With the amount you’ve ingested, I’d bet on it. Let me give you something for it.”  
  
A thought struck Jim. “Say, Bones?”  
  
“Yeah?” Bones asked, not looking up from the hypo he was readying.  
  
“Would you tell me if things were bothering you? Like, really serious things. Or would you keep it to yourself and deal with it yourself?”  
  
Bones looked at him. “Maybe,” he said. “But just as there are things everyone keeps to themselves, there are things we tell to strangers because we just want it off our chests. But it’s our decision to make, Jim. You can’t force it, just as much as you can’t force Spock to let you help him.”  
  
\--  
  
Several hours later, Jim woke up with a groan and wondered what the hell he’d been doing last night.  
  
When Jim was depressed or feeling less than up to a mood, he went to Bones. Not only was Bones his best friend ever (or at least, they were good friends and Bones was actually the first person who’d been through Jimmy and the Emotional Rollercoaster that stayed), the man had booze. A lot of booze that Jim was pretty sure wouldn’t pass an inspection run by a higher-ranking officer, but what was Jim to complain about? There was just something about drowning your sorrows with someone who was going to help you make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself.  
  
Jim had taken a few drinks in the beginning of the five year mission with Bones by his side, almost always after a funeral, almost  
always after some shit hit the fan and Jim  _wanted_  to fix it, wanted to go back in time and make sure it’d never happened at all, and all Bones could really do was grunt and keep him from turning into an alcoholic or desperate. The arrangement had worked so far; and hopefully, it’d worked last night.  
  
Right now, he had no idea what had gone on, only that roughly by the time Jim woke up (as in right now), he had a _hangover._  Okay, maybe not, since he had brief flashes of memory and a neck ache beyond all comparison that proved that Bones had taken pains to hypo him to oblivion and beyond before he let Jim go to bed. Even then, it still felt like he’d been choked by a pissed off Vulcan and then had the rest of his brains dashed across the consoles while he’d been asleep.  
  
With a groan, he nearly choked on his own vomit. Yikes.  
  
He stumbled up, trying to orient himself. Whatever it was that Bones had tried to detox him with, it worked a bit  _too_  well. Jim was liable to spring out of bed and impale himself on something if he wasn’t careful.  
  
“Computer,” he managed out. Even his voice sounded a bit too strong for his taste and he winced, rubbing his sore neck. “What’s the time?”  
  
The computer rattled off a time that Jim barely managed to register. Instead, his thoughts wandered to the entire reason he’d sought Bones out last night: Spock. Spock, still residing in the room next to his, who shared the bathroom that Jim was now stumbling upon.  
  
Jim could never really tell when his First Officer was up and about. It made him wonder what he was going to do, before the shift, before he entered. To both his relief and disappointment, Spock wasn’t there.  
  
Jim paused, and stared at himself in the mirror.  
  
“Computer, what time is it again?”  
  
“0600 hours.”  
  
Huh. Imagine that. Jim had actual time before his shift.  
  
Enough time to pay Bones a visit and tell him he wasn’t drowning in a puddle of his own vomit, like he’d almost ended up doing. And maybe talk a bit more.  
  
Bones’s words came back to his mind and Jim scowled. The fact still remained that there was little Jim could  _really_  do for Spock if Spock didn’t want to share. But then thing was, couldn’t Jim do something, even if Spock didn’t want to exactly share what? Couldn’t Jim somehow make it easier for him, help him out, nudge him a little?  
  
It didn’t matter if Spock wasn’t asking for it. Jim wanted to do it. He wanted to help.  
  
And then suddenly...he had an idea.  
  
_This_ was it.  _This_  would fix it all.  
  
In the mirror, Jim grinned so wide he could’ve blinded someone.  
  
It was pure, solid gold.  
  
\--  
  
It was pure, solid gold. Bones, however, did not seem to think so, at which, since Bones was always playing the Devil’s Advocate, Jim shouldn’t have been so surprised.  
  
The whole problem centered because of the break-up. Spock was a naturally introspective person. He’d keep to himself if he could, and Jim had no doubts that back in the Academy, Spock had done just that. Hell, Jim would bet his Captaincy on it (no betting the Enterprise because even if it was a sort of bet Jim was guaranteed to win, you just didn’t do that to the lovely lady). This had been the basis of Jim’s idea.  
  
However, whatever it was that was in Jim’s eyes at the moment, Bones saw it, recognized it, and scowled immediately. He  _had_  roomed with Jim for three years, so it stood to reason that the soul-searching, I-know-you-better-than-your-medical-history was pretty deep. Jim didn’t know whether or not to feel good about this when Bones’s eyebrows furrowed and his frown deepened; it was never a good sign.  
  
“No,” Bones said firmly, before Jim could even open his mouth. “It’s early in the morning—yes, I know that space doesn’t have that kind of distinction—but I don’t trust I can deal with you right now or whatever your brain has come up with.”  
  
This was prejudice. Somehow. It  _had_  to be. It was prejudice and a by-product of a natural grumpy Bones in the morning after a night of drinking.  
  
“But you didn’t even hear it!”  
  
“That’s the point.”  
  
Jim shut his mouth and tried to look annoyed. Bones would  _have_  to ask what was up, and then Jim could probably somehow manage to convince him that this was a relevant topic that needed him to pay attention to.  
  
Bones rolled his eyes.  
  
Okay, so maybe not.  
  
Jim tried pleading next. Pleading always worked, except when Bones called him out on his bullshit, and then it wasn’t fair at all.  
  
“ _C’mon_ , Bones.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Just let me pitch it to you. It’s brilliant, I swear. Best plan ever.”  
  
Bones made a sound in his throat that sounded like a cross between a stifled grunt, and a  _why-me_ , but Jim ignored him and enthusiastically told him all about it.  
  
As he continued on and on, the look on the man’s face became from looking averse to looking irritated, then from alarmed to looking outright horrified.  
  
“And then—” Jim continued.  
  
“Wait, there’s  _more_?”  
  
By the time he was finished, Bones looked like he didn’t know what to think. He opened his mouth to say something, only to shut it.  
  
Jim grinned. It was totally a victory. Really.  
  
“Only you,” Bones said at last, and covered his face, “would want to have a blind date for a Vulcan.”  
  
“What? Is something wrong with that?” Jim asked defensively.  
  
It wasn’t that bad of an idea, if you completely disregarded and ignored the fact that Spock wouldn’t be caught dead in the Sickbay willingly and that Bones still held a complete and utter grudge against the Enterprise’s First Officer for that one time thing that Jim didn’t even think twice about these days, and also that they hated each other’s guts. In fact, it was a _great_  idea. Jim had no idea why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.  
  
 “Goddammit, Jim, do you know how many conflicting feelings I have about this?”  
  
There were plenty of conflicting feelings Bones could have about this, but Jim translated that as ‘ _you mean well most of the time, but I’m not sure what I feel about my best friend trying to set me up on a blind date_ ’. It was strangely very encouraging.  
  
“Don’t worry, Bones!” Jim grinned. “You’re totally a catch.”  
  
“Jim, the issue here is that you expect me to spend time with the green-blooded hobgoblin that marooned you on a planet made of  _ice._  Forgive me if I think the only thing the two of us are going to be doing is verbal beat-downs about logic versus emotion and why which one is better, before he decides to maroon  _me_  somewhere for mutiny.”  
  
“Bones, I thought we agreed that he was just emotionally compromised and that I forgive him.”  
  
“The  _emotionally compromised_  green-blooded hobgoblin that marooned you on a planet made of ice who  ** _I_**  don’t forgive, then,” Bones amended and then groaned. He sank back in his seat and looked about twenty years older. “Why are we talking about this?” he asked listlessly.  
  
“Because you need to be Spock’s blind date?”  
  
“Jim, I hardly even know that damned Vulcan!”  
  
“He’s not hard to know. Just talk to him.”  
  
Bones rolled his eyes. “If that isn’t what I do to him every time I see him, I don’t know what is.”  
  
“You could probably call it yelling.” Jim pointed out helpfully. “Or just communication.”  
  
For a few moments, Jim actually thought he was getting somewhere. There was this almost defeated look to the older man (and Jim was actually getting kind of worried, but then again, Bones and Spock were as opposite as you could get), and Bones almost looked like he’d fold just to get Jim to shut up, stop badgering him about it, or something. Almost.  
  
“No, Jim,” he sighed.  
  
“Well, you could always steal a glance at his medical records or something?” he suggested. “If you want to get to know him better?”  
  
“And why would I want to do that? I’m a doctor, not someone who wants to see his innards or whether or not he has a heart. And yes,” Bones said, putting up a hand before Jim could jump in defence of his First Officer. “Biologically, I know he has one.”  
  
“ _Bones_. Do it for me.”  
  
Bones snorted. “I do a  _lot_  for you, Jim, and most of it has to do with stitching or putting you back together after how you beam yourself up and end up in Sickbay.”  
  
“Do it for Spock?”  
  
Bones gave him a  _really, Jim_  look.  
  
“To cheer him up?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Get to know him better?”  
  
“Try again,” Bones said, exasperated.  
  
Jim frowned.  
  
“To help improve ship morale by way of a truce between two warring houses of two destined lovers?”  
  
“Jim, are you even listening to yourself? I don’t know what goes on in that mind of yours, but this isn’t the best solution.”  
  
Okay, so maybe this wasn’t working out as well as he’d hoped, but Bones hadn’t thrown him out of his office yet. Or sickbay. Despite his initial inhibitions, Bones wasn’t dead set against it—or at least, he wasn’t yelling yet. It was a good sign, because it still meant he could be persuaded.  
  
“C’mon, Bones. Spock’s not that bad. I know he honestly likes arguing with you.”  
  
“As much as a Vulcan likes arguing with an emotional human, I read you.”  
  
It was a losing battle, but Jim was determined not to give in. “You can’t tell me you’ve never liked arguing with him.”  
  
Bones snorted. “Nice try, but you know as much as I do that we hardly ever agree on anything except on whether or not you should stay in Sickbay when you need to.”  
  
“Exactly!” Jim said triumphantly. “I can be your connecting medium! All you have to do is talk about me—well, not really because I’m pretty sure you’d run out of things to talk about—” Bones made a coughing sound into his fist. “—but really! I don’t mind. If it turns out I’m the only thing you have in common. You can bond over the shared standpoint that I do nothing but recklessly try to kill myself, if that’s how you look at it.”  
  
“Jim,” Bones said patiently, though he looked very fond of him. “I’m not doing it.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“There’s a whole lot of reasons why not.”  
  
“Is it because it’s Spock?” Jim asked defensively. The question, ‘ _what did he ever do to you personally_ ’, was heavily implied.  
  
“I’m not going to lie and say it’s not because I don’t like him or what he decided to do,” Bones replied wearily, rubbing at his forehead. “And I’m not going to psychoanalyze any more than necessary. But, Jim, I’m an old man. I’m not looking for anyone, and even if I were, it’d be a long time before I even wanted to. Even if this is a blind date, people go into them looking to be honest. And they’re  _honestly_  looking to get together.”  
  
“One date,” Jim pleaded. “Just  _one._ You don’t even need to kiss him.”  
  
Bones blanched at that image. It seemed like something wasn’t coming out of his tongue. “No thanks.”  
  
“I’ll never bother you again.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I’ll agree with what you say always and never argue with you.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I’ll hop like a chicken and flap my wings?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You know I love you, Bones.”  
  
“Yes, you’ve professed love for me many a time when you were under and I was trying to bring you both back to life and cursing your very existence. I’ve lost track of how many times I was tempted to kill you to save myself both the trouble and heartache.”  
  
“ _Come on,_ Bones, don’t be like that. I won’t flirt with your nurses.”  
  
“Goddammit, Jim, didn’t I tell you to  _stop_  doing that?!”  
  
“I’ll come to Sickbay when you want me to.”  
  
“I can pull  _rank_ , and do that.”  
  
“I’ll come to Sickbay when you want me to and I promise I won’t whine about it?”  
  
“No dice, kid. There’s a reason your other best friends are this hypo here and the rest of its family.”  
  
“I won’t have sex?”  
  
“Yes, that’ll kill you, I’m sure. Big sacrifice.” Bones sighed. “Fine.  _But_ —” he said sharply, before Jim could do anything except look undoubtedly delighted. “—I’m telling you, it’s not going to work, and if anything, this could probably hurt Spock more than help him.”  
  
“It’ll be fine, Bones.” Jim said impatiently, and beamed. “Okay! So after the shift and all, meet Spock on the Observation deck, and you two can argue about whether or not stars are sentient beings and whether they’d be logical or emotional or whatever.”  
  
“Where are you going now?” Bones asked, as Jim leapt out of his seat and made to stride out.  
  
“To let Spock know he has a date?”  
  
Bones was left spluttering.


End file.
